


The Unimaginable Light You Hold Inside

by TARDISTraveller42



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama & Romance, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Holodeck Character, Holodecks/Holosuites, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, also the doctor gets a boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:14:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TARDISTraveller42/pseuds/TARDISTraveller42
Summary: After "Spirit Folk", the Doctor is inspired to tell other Holodeck characters about their true identity. The series of events that follow will either end in friendship or yet another Holodeck incident. Can you place your bets as to which is more likely?
Relationships: The Doctor (Star Trek) & Crew, The Doctor (Star Trek)/Original Character(s), Tom Paris/B'Elanna Torres
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. Permission to Make Friends on the Holodeck?

Chapter One  
"Permission to Make Friends on the Holodeck?"

“Enter.”

At the sound of the Captain’s voice, the Doctor hurried into her ready room. All morning he had been preparing what to say, how to say it, and even a few Starfleet-esque speeches in case she declined his proposal. But as soon as the door shut behind him and the air filled with stillness and quiet, he faltered. 

Stuttering forward, he tried to think of where to begin; how to make his idea sound, well, _sound_. Reasonable. 

He was, undoubtedly, a regular part of the senior staff by this point; had been for a long time. But at moments like this, he felt somewhat...inadequate. Like his opinions had an extra vetting process to go through before they would be seen as equal to others’.

“Doctor?” the Captain said, softly encouraging the Doctor out of his winding thoughts. “You wanted to see me?”

Right. He’d put on his mobile emitter and walked all the way here; might as well make it worthwhile.

“Yes, I did.” He swallowed, feeling more confident now that the silence had been broken. “Captain, our recent experience with the Fair Haven program has opened up a lot of possibilities I wasn’t aware of before.”

“It has,” she agreed, taking a sip of her morning coffee as she leaned back in her seat. “We’ve practically told an entire 19th century Irish village about warp technology. If it wasn’t a holoprogram, I’d feel like I broke the Prime Directive.”

“I was actually thinking of more...personal possibilities.”

The Captain raised a hand as she swallowed her coffee.

“If you’re referring to Michael Sullivan, don’t bother. I’ve decided to end our relationship." She shrugged. "We just weren’t compatible.”

“But you designed him-?” The Doctor stopped himself short; it was not his place to pry into the Captain’s relationships. Righting himself, he continued, “Don’t worry, Captain; I was actually talking about myself.”

Ah, there we go. Perfect segue into the speech he’d prepared. He knew he’d get there eventually; just needed some help from the Captain (and didn’t they all?).

“You see, beside the people in Fair Haven, I’m the only sentient hologram on Voyager. I may be one of only a few in the universe. If it’s possible, I would like to meet new holograms; who are sentient as I am, and have autonomy. The people in Fair Haven are nice, but...the 19th century is rather limiting.”

“Do you want to create new holograms that are sentient?” the Captain asked. Her tone and her expression looked less than thrilled.

That was alright. He had been expecting that question and that look on her face. 

“No, actually,” he replied, bouncing up and down a few times as his explanation tumbled out of his mouth, “I understand that you could never authorize creating a sentient hologram. Starfleet doesn’t recognize me as a person, let alone as someone who can create Federation citizens from photons.” 

The Doctor swallowed the bitterness in his tone, exchanging it for something softer and more upbeat. 

“I’m requesting permission to talk to existing hologram characters, like we did with the people of Fair Haven. Tell them about their true identity, as you told Seven about hers. Give them information, so that they could make decisions for themselves. I want to see if other Holograms, others like me, can achieve sentience. And if they can, maybe...maybe we’ve stumbled upon a new lifeform of sorts.” The Doctor did not need to pause for breath, but he did, regardless. The Captain’s face was unreadable and honestly he was feeling desperate at this point. “Think of it as an experiment: to see whether or not Holodeck characters really are just a series of inputs and data chips or whether they are people, like I am.”

When he finished his speech, the Doctor let the silence sit between them for a long moment. The Captain still wore a poker face, but it was waning into...humor? Acceptance? Compassion? Positive emotions were difficult for him to read; EMHs didn’t need to know the difference between ‘elation’ and ‘joy’ as much as ‘pain’ versus ‘agony’. But he did recognize it as _a_ positive emotion.

“Permission granted,” the Captain said finally, setting down her cup so she could fold her hands on the desk. With a shrug, she added, “I’m not going to stop you from talking to people. Now, I don’t know what you hope to achieve; we can’t pass your mobile emitter around, or let strangers walk through Sickbay at all hours of the day. But if you just want to start a dialogue with these people, then I don’t see the harm in that.”

The Doctor was surprised at her response, but happy nonetheless. He had been ready to launch into another speech, about how he was once forced to live within the confines of his programming until she gave him the opportunity to grow. But it seemed at this point that it would be unnecessary. 

Nodding with a smile, the Doctor replied with a simple, “Thank you, Captain.”

And she replied with an equally casual, “Just don’t cause yet another Holodeck incident, Doctor. B’Elanna’s just got the safeties working again.”

“Aye, Captain.”


	2. To the Holodeck, By Way of Paris

Chapter Two  
"To the Holodeck, By Way of Paris

“Ah, Mr. Paris. I see you’ve finally decided to join me in Sickbay today.”

Tom was only thirty seconds late to his shift, but the Doctor couldn’t help himself. Since their second year in the Delta Quadrant, it was a running gag amongst the senior officers to treat Tom Paris as if he were the misbehaving ‘bad boy’ he thought he was. They teased him about how late he arrived to work, especially when he was ‘only two minutes early’. They teased him about the proper uniform ‘I want to see that zipper fully zipped, Mr.’. And, in return, he teased them right back, with a playful smile on his ever playful face.

“Trust me,” Tom replied, tossing the PADD he’d been carrying onto the nearest workbench, “it was a tough decision to make. But...duty calls.”

They shared a quick smile, and then got to work. Thanks to Mr. Neelix’s most recent forage, there were over 20 new specimens to study and catalogue. It was dreary work most of the time. But it was necessary if they were to prevent food poisonings and the like. 

Well, all food poisonings that could be prevented before Mr. Neelix’s toxic cooking techniques.

Twenty minutes into Mr. Paris’ shift, when they’d gotten into a routine of scanning, naming, studying, and cataloguing, the Doctor looked up from his PADD. There was so much on his mind lately. And though he could process it at incredibly high speeds, there were still certain questions for which he required an outside opinion. 

“Mr. Paris,” he said, shifting in his seat to face Tom more directly, “do you remember the events in Fair Haven two weeks ago?”

Paris guffawed at that, glancing up from his own PADD. “How could I forget? We were almost burned at the stake, remember?”

“But do you remember what happened afterward?”

Paris set down his PADD, turning to the Doctor. He seemed more serious now; work-Tom rather than play-Tom. It was a small shift, but noticeable nonetheless.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I managed to teach a 19th century Irishman about warp drive. I don’t know how much he remembers but...it was pretty incredible.”

“I thought so, too,” the Doctor agreed. He opened and closed his fist a few times, a nervous tic he’d picked up from the many hours he’d spent with anxious crewmembers. “I...actually have a special assignment, involving something similar.”

“Oh yeah?” Paris returned to his work, but his tone indicated that he really was interested. 

It was nice, sometimes, to have a genuine conversation with Mr. Paris. He was usually such a prankster, one wondered where they stood in his view. But every now and then, Tom Paris revealed just how much he did care for his companions on Voyager; how important his work really was to him. 

“The Captain’s given me permission to talk to other Holograms. Try and tell them what they are, and what they are capable of.” 

Paris didn’t respond immediately. That was common, when the Doctor spoke about Holograms. Most of the time, he believed, they liked to think of him as just another crewmate; just another humanoid. But when he brought up the fact that he was a Hologram, which he did often, everyone grew quiet. His sentience, and what it could mean, still made them all a little bit uncomfortable. 

When Paris remained silent for another moment, the Doctor’s patience grew thin.

“Do you think it’s a bad idea?”

Paris met his eye briefly, then shook his head fervently.

“No, Doc. But...I think we do have to be careful. We’ve had our share of Holodeck incidents; some of them have been pretty serious.”

The Doctor chuckled to himself. “I never would have expected to hear you talk about being careful.”

Paris’ smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ve gotten into enough trouble to know it’s best to avoid it, if you can.”

The Doctor’s smile faded, eyes softening as he stared at a point just beside the Sickbay doors. Paris was correct, of course; he didn’t want to cause any trouble or shipwide emergencies in his quest for companionship. But surely the benefits outweighed the risks: an entirely new lifeform, with sentience and independence. People who were like him, but of course with their own personalities. 

No matter what happened, it was worth it.

“Doc?” Paris asked, gently prodding the Doctor out of his thoughts. “I have a few programs you can try out. There are some Hologr-...some people I think you’d like to meet.”

The Doctor gave Paris a warm, grateful smile. 

“Thank you, Mr. Paris. I look forward to it.”

………… …………. ………… ……………. ………………… …....……

The Doctor arrived at Holodeck 2 five minutes before he was scheduled to meet Mr. Paris and Lieutenant Torres. He felt nervous, for some reason. It was ridiculous, of course. He’d performed life-or-death operations on numerous occasions; surely he could make a few friends without experiencing anxiety. 

But that was just it, wasn’t it? He was used to performing surgery. It was what he was programmed to do; what he was good at. This entire situation, meeting Paris’ Hologram friends, talking to them about their origins, possibly beginning a new era of Hologram sentience...this was far from what he’d consider his skillset.

Perhaps instead of giving Seven lessons in social norms, he should have been educating himself.

Voices entered the corridor, quiet but growing louder. With his advanced hearing, the Doctor could tell it was Paris and Torres, engaged in a trivial disagreement of some kind. But when they arrived, they were both laughing and grinning, shoulders brushing each other as they walked. 

Another lover’s quarrel solved and forgotten.

“Doc!” Paris said cheerfully. “I’ve got everything set up for you. You’re gonna love it.”

“What program did you give him?” asked Torres.

“It’s perfect. A gorgeous, 23rd century theater designed to look antique. It’s got crown mouldings, an orchestra pit, cushioned seats. And best of all, it’s packed with singers, actors, dancers…”

“Theater fanatics,” Torres said bluntly. 

“Well, yeah,” Paris continued. “Doc, you’re gonna love ‘em. They’re a good crew. Well, most of them, anyway.”

“Most of them?” the Doctor questioned. If he had a heart, it would have leapt into his throat right about now. If something went wrong, the Captain would be furious and it would be his fault and-

“Don’t worry about it,” Paris waved off. “Me and B’Elanna will be right next door in Holodeck 1. If you run into any trouble, just call us.”

“Have fun with your theater people, Doctor,” B’Elanna said. 

Her tone was sincere, but the smile on her face made it obvious that she was glad not to be attending. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, she seemed to dislike his opera performances even more than his Holo Photographic lectures.

“Oh, and keep your program linked to your Mobile Emitter, in case there’s a problem!” she shouted.

Before the Doctor could do more than sputter a response, they’d both disappeared into the next door, whisked away onto whatever date they had planned for tonight. As soon as the door shut behind them, the corridor was silent. 

Right. Time to get to work. Time to meet new people and see if he could make friends with his own kind; real friends, who could learn their true nature and maintain their personalities and individuality.

The Doctor took a deep breath that he didn’t really need to, and then stepped onto the Holodeck.


	3. Real, Holographic Friends

Chapter Three  
"Real, Holographic, Friends"

As soon as he stepped through the doors of the theater, the Doctor gasped. Just as Tom had described, the space was enormous and intricately decorated. Rows and rows of burgundy-lined seats led straight down to the orchestra pit sitting just in front of and beneath the stage. The same shade of burgundy colored the curtains, draping fabrics that appeared almost designedly curled and tied around the left and right sides of the stage.

He made his way down the red carpeted aisle, then looked up to find a ceiling that must have rivalled the Sistine Chapel. A golden chandelier brightened the space immensely. Above that was a painting done by a master; ancient Greek or Roman by design, but containing characters from multiple planets. 

It was what Seven would call ‘perfection’.

“I can not work like this!”

The booming voice called the Doctor’s attention back to the front of the theater. There, a Klingon man stood towering over someone sitting in the front row. He was holding a PADD, gesturing emotionally with it as he lamented whatever issue he was having.

“The air in here is like ice,” continued the Klingon. “My voice will not work in this environment, and I will make a fool of myself.”

As he approached the scene, the Doctor identified the man in the chair as a Vulcan. He wore a sharp suit and a blank expression, even as the Klingon man’s shadow overtook his much smaller form. 

“As a director, I do not have the authority to make decisions about the environmental controls of this entire building. There are two options at your disposal,” said the Vulcan, massaging his chin with an air of indifference. “You can speak with the maintenance workers of this theater and have them adjust the temperature to your preference, or you can withdraw from the performance.”

The Klingon man took a deep breath. His demeanor made it obvious that he was used to the director’s manner, but that he was weary of it all the same.

“I will speak to the maintenance worker,” he agreed, balling his fists but controlling himself enough not to use them. 

“Marab,” the director said, finally turning to face the Klingon. “Our performance will most likely be seen by only a small number of people. Anxiety is unwarranted.”

Marab only shook his head and walked faster away from the director, muttering something about his honor being ‘ruined’ by this theater, and about how he ‘should have stayed on Kronos’.

With that issue settled, the Vulcan director turned his attention to the Doctor, who was still standing in the aisle. He raised an eyebrow with a frown. “You are not one of my performers.”

“No,” the Doctor agreed. He put on a smile, bouncing slightly as he puffed out his chest, “Though, I do pride myself on my ability to carry a tune.”

The director seemed unimpressed. A moment later, he whipped out a PADD and pretended that it was the most interesting literature he had ever heard of. 

All of a sudden, the Doctor was wondering why Mr. Paris had encouraged this. None of these people were personable, let alone inspiring friendship. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. If he left now, surely everyone would forget he even suggested such a silly thing. By next week, this could all be a distant memory growing more distant with time.

The Doctor turned around and started toward the door he had entered. As he walked, he admired the craftsmanship of the theater. It truly was wonderful. If only the people inside of it were nearly as beautiful and welcoming as the building itself. Then, perhaps-

“Garen Kigrass, duets are meant to be sung in pairs,” the director’s voice rang out. If he weren’t Vulcan, one would almost believe he were irritated.

At that moment, the Doctor just happened to be curious. He just happened to turn around. And he just happened to see someone that made him, quite literally, stop in his tracks.

The man named Garen Kigrass had a smile that could have brightened even the most dismal of rooms. In this elegant space, it shined in the spotlights and made it all the more exquisite. As the Doctor found himself walking again toward the stage, he noticed that Garen was a Trill. Spots decorated his dark skin, framing his symmetrical face. 

“Mr. Kigrass,” the director repeated, releasing a sigh. “My statement implied the question: Where is your duet partner?”

Garen’s smile faltered, just slightly. The Doctor threw a glare at the director for making such a happy and kind-looking man sad. How dare he?

“I’m honestly not sure,” said Garen. “He disappeared on me last week, to one of the colonies, and I haven’t seen him since. I’m sorry, Mr. Pek.”

The director, Mr. Pek, sighed into his PADD once more. Then his eyes met the Doctor’s. An eyebrow raise later, Pek raised a brow; a man with a plan.

“You stated that you are capable of carrying a tune.”

The Doctor’s eyes widened, being suddenly thrust into the spotlight. Garen’s expectant gaze only made him more anxious; a blush warmed his holographic face. 

“I...yes. I can. I would be happy to, actually. If that’s-”

“Please speak to Mr. Kigrass about the duet to see if you are capable of performing. The show is next Saturday evening, so there will be a limited rehearsal period.”

“I understand,” the Doctor said with a nod. 

As soon as Pek was back in his front row seat, nose in his PADD, the Doctor turned to the stage. Garen was closer than he had been before; nearly close enough to the edge of the stage to warrant concern. But his smile was so bright and his spots were so beautifully intricate and his hand was held with such a genuine kindness that the Doctor dispelled his concerns of safety.

“Need a hand?” 

“Yes, please.”

Garen’s hand was strong in his own as he stepped up onto the stage. The Doctor tried not to overthink this whole thing; he was just here to make friends, after all. Meet a few holograms; perhaps teach them what being a ‘hologram’ meant. But as Garen’s hand slid out of his own, he found himself missing it already.

This was all ridiculous, of course. He was a Doctor, not a hopeful romantic. 

That’s what he tried to tell himself, as Garen’s dark eyes met his own.

“Do you know the old earth song ‘Rewrite the Stars’?”

The Doctor blinked a few times. “It’s not one of my specialties, but I know it well enough. How did you hear of it?”

“There’s an up and coming Trill playwright who used this song in a popular musical of theirs. It was about their experience being rejoined and unable to stay with the person they were in love with.”

“Powerful stuff.”

“Yeah, I thought so. But also I just like it because it’s in my range.”

The Doctor smiled at the joke. “That’s how most of my musical selections are chosen.”

……….. …………….. ……………… ……………… …………………

The rehearsal went flawlessly. Well, as flawlessly as any musical rehearsal can go. There were a few missed notes; some issues with matching each other’s tempo. Garen, unfortunately, took the lower part that was much closer to the Doctor’s range, which forced the Doctor to change the entire key to be able to sing the much higher notes. But overall, it was a glorious, exhilarating time

Once they’d gotten it down, Garen sat on the piano bench, facing outward, and looked up at the Doctor as he shook his head.

“I should’ve hired you to be my partner from the beginning,” he said.

The Doctor couldn’t help but smile, yet again. He was doing that a lot today. Garen just had that effect on people, he guessed. Or, certain people. Or just himself. But either way, it was a good effect and he was going to savor it as long as he could.

“Do you want to grab some lunch?” Garen asked suddenly. He cast a glance over to Pek, who was now bullying Marab, the Klingon opera singer. “We’ll have to be sneaky about it. Pek’s always a hardass about eating in the theater.”

“I’d love to.”

“And while we’re at it, I can introduce you to some of my friends.”

Garen led the Doctor backstage. It was dark, but he could easily make out the shapes of other performers and technicians. Everyone seemed to be either mildly irritated or wholly indifferent to the performance. Given the director and the state of their show, it seemed fitting.

“This,” Garen said, leading the Doctor to a brighter hallway, “is Lissa.”

“Welcome to the team,” said Lissa, shaking the Doctor’s hand with a firm grip. “Or should I say, condolences.”

“Condolences?”

She cast him a raised brow. “We’re not exactly a premier theatre group.”

“That’s alright.” The Doctor turned to Garen, and then, blushing for the second time that day, back to Lissa. “I think you’re doing just fine.”

The three of them shared a smile. A moment later, Lissa reached into her bag and pulled out three sandwiches. The smell of peanut butter filled the air, reminding the Doctor of Tom Paris. 

“Want one?” she asked, handing one to Garen as she bit into her own.

“As a Doctor, I should note that secretly carrying potent allergens is a health risk. However,” the Doctor took the sandwich from her and bit into it. “I haven’t eaten for a very long time.”

He didn’t tell them he hadn’t eaten real, holographic food in nearly five years; in ye olde Denmark with a bunch of people preparing to face Grendel. It wasn’t time...yet.

“Ah!” Garen remarked, “and this is Sandra, one of our finest dancers.”

“Stop,” Sandra laughed, holding Garen’s hand as she sat down beside them.

The Doctor tried to swallow his jealousy with his next bite of peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“This is the Doctor,” Garen continued. “He’s my new duet partner since apparently Greber went back to the colonies.”

“Greber did _what_?!” questioned Lissa with a wide grin.

The conversation continued in such a way, dipping in and out of the Doctor’s areas of expertise. It was strange making friends the old fashioned way; normal conversations rather than a series of life-or-death situations. But it was nice. They could sit back here and gossip and eat and the lights were bright enough to see but dim enough to keep an atmosphere of secrecy and warmth. Everything was going swell. 

Until, of course, the door to their little hallway opened and Pek appeared.

“I have told you repeatedly that food is not allowed in the theater,” he said. He actually put his PADD away this time; he meant business. “As you are all well into adulthood, your cognitive abilities are more than capable of understanding this simple rule.”

“Sorry, Mr. Pek,” Garen said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “We’ll clean up here.”

“I hope so.”

Pek whipped his PADD out again and disappeared, letting the door slam behind him. 

As soon as he was gone, the Doctor’s new friends leaned in closer to the circle the had formed.

“Don’t worry about old crotchety,” Sandra said with a shake of the head. “His bark is worse than his bite.”

“His...bark?” Garen questioned. He looked to the Doctor for assistance.

“It’s an Earth expression.”

Garen shook his head, wiping his fingers in his napkin. 

“I’m glad I’ve got you here now, Doctor. It’s almost impossible for me to understand these two sometimes.”

“Anytime.”

And the Doctor really meant that. He had just found this little slice of normal in the Delta quadrant; this tiny space where he could be himself and be around people who shared his interests and didn’t treat him like a hologram. And he wanted to spend as much time as possible here.


	4. What if we Rewrite the Stars?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna be real with you, this chapter is basically a songfic. idk if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it's what it is. I hope you have fun, as cheesy as this is gonna be :)

Chapter Four  
"What if we Rewrite the Stars?"

When the Doctor next entered the Captain’s ready room, it was with a bounce in his step and a smile on his face. He couldn’t help it; he was just...happy. Happier than he’d been in a long time. 

“I’ve completed the annual physicals, and I’m glad to report that the crew is in perfect health.”

The Captain finished her sip of coffee and set it down with more intensity than usual. Taking the PADD, she gave the Doctor a look that reminded him that it was only 0700 hours and that, unlike himself, his human companions required a little less enthusiasm at such an hour.

“I apologize, Captain.” He forced the smile off of his face, replacing it with a sympathetic frown. “I’ve been spending most of the last week on the Holodeck. They don’t need the same transition time that humans do. Although, Garen is something of a Garfield when it comes to Monday rehearsals.”

“Garen?”

Yet again, the Doctor found himself close to blushing. He froze for a moment, as the Captain stared up at him with an inquisitive brow. Then, somehow, he came back to himself.

“He’s my duet partner. We’re putting on a performance tomorrow evening. The crew is welcome to watch, if they wish.”

The Captain smiled, sitting back in her chair. She continued to sip her coffee, and continued to come to life as the new day dawned.

“I take it everything’s going well, then.”

“It’s going perfectly,” the Doctor said, letting the smile creep back onto his face. “Mr. Paris has really outdone himself this time. The theater is filled with character. And everyone I’ve met has been interesting, to say the least.”

“Have you talked to them about who - or, should I say, ‘what’ - they are?” The Captain asked suddenly.

The Doctor felt his smile waver again, as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Not yet. I was going to tonight, if that’s alright.”

The Captain shifted her gaze to her coffee, then out the window on the far side of the room. For a moment, she merely stared. When she turned back, it was with a slight smile.

“Permission granted. Just notify Tom or B’Elanna if there are any problems. They’re both working the night shift today.”

“Thank you, Captain,” the Doctor said with a nod. He spun on his heel to make his way out, but was suddenly called back by a hail from the Captain.

“Doctor...give Garen my regards.”

The Doctor blushed, impossibly, for the second time that day before he made a quick exit out of the room.

………. …………. …………… ………………. …………….. ..…………

The rehearsal room in the back of the theater was the Doctor’s favorite place in this whole program. It was a small space, with concrete walls and tiled floor. Nearly half of the room was taken up by an old dusty piano whose top-most keys were beyond repair. But, somehow, the acoustics were perfect. And the smallness of the space only made it cozier; more comfortable.

It was in this room that the Doctor next found Garen. 

He sat at the piano, his hands dancing over the keys in smooth, fine motions that made his intricate playing style appear almost nonchalant. He seemed to be lost in the music, a Trill song he had tried to teach the Doctor a few days ago. It was mesmerizing to watch. Garen’s body swayed with the motion that the music made, shoulders shifting to the right with the treble clef and left with the bass clef. 

When he noticed the Doctor, his bright smile beamed. He paused only for a second, to wave a beckoning hand.

“Doctor! You’re here early today. How was work?”

The Doctor joined Garen on the piano bench, his usual place. Their shoulders brushed just long enough to send a jolt of electricity up the Doctor’s arm.

If he had one, his heart may have skipped a beat.

“No medical emergencies today. Unless you count Mr. Paris’ scraped knee.”

“He went to your office for a scraped knee?” Garen questioned with a gentle smile.

The Doctor returned the smile, folding his knee across his lap. “That was exactly what I said, Garen. And then Mr. Paris informed me that it ‘hurt’ and complained of my ‘bedside manner’.”

“I’ve never been your patient,” Garen said, finishing up the piece and lifting his hands off of the piano. “But I can’t imagine you having a bad bedside manner.”

They shared a look. A long, deep look that felt like staring into a beautiful, dangerous nebula. Then the Doctor turned away and shuffled through the papers to find their music.

“So, er,” he stammered, “we should rehearse one more time. Before the big day tomorrow.”

“Yes. We should.”

Garen’s short, stifled voice made it sound like rehearsing wasn’t at the forefront of his mind. But the Doctor had already found their duet and, automatically, Garen’s hand found their proper placement on the keyboard.

“ _You know I want you. It’s not a secret I try to hide_ ,” Garen sang.

The lyrics, so abrupt, sent a shiver down the Doctor’s holographic spine. This was getting absolutely ridiculous. He could not...this was a mission; his own personal mission. He wasn’t here to _date_. He was here to inform Holograms of their identity. To teach them who they are and, if he failed, find others and see if they were more receptive. One wrong move or one wrong word, and Garen’s entire matrix could go up in a flurry of program malfunctions.

Garen was not available; not remotely. And the Doctor had to accept that.

“ _It’s up to you, and it’s up to me. No one can say what we get to be_ ,” Garen continued. The words were torture. Combined with his smooth, powerful voice they were fatal. 

When his part was finished, Garen gave a pointed look to the Doctor. He smiled, and played a little softer as he nodded his head to the beat.

Right. Now it was the Doctor’s turn to torture himself. Why had they chosen this song again? That was a brilliant question.

“ _You think it’s easy_ ,” the Doctor sang, trying not to make it obvious that the words were meaningful in any way. “ _You think I don’t want to run to you_?” 

He continued in this way, his emotions horribly muted while his voice hit the notes with an eerie perfection. But he couldn’t keep this up for long. Either Garen would notice or his own emotions would bubble to the surface. And either way, he would eventually have to tell Garen the truth; who he was and where he came from. What he was doing here. What any of them were doing here, Holograms on a Holodeck.

Oh God, maybe he’d made a terrible mistake.

“ _I know you're wondering why because we're able to be just you and me within these walls. But when we go outside, you're gonna wake up and see that it was hopeless after all_ ,” the Doctor’s voice carried louder, more emotively. He was staring Garen in the eye now.

Ridiculous as it was, this was their situation. Garen didn’t know how fragile their relationship was; two Holograms against the world. Garen himself could be deleted so, so easily. He had no backup; hardly a file to his name. If there was a power surge or even if the Bridge required energy transferred from the Holodeck; if they passed through an anomaly or if the Holodecks went offline for too long...Garen could be gone. He wasn’t nearly as complex as the Doctor’s program; didn’t have all of those failsafes that still weren’t enough.

But their big duet was coming up and the Doctor couldn’t drop out now, the day before the performance. So when Garen stood, pounding at the piano, he stood right alongside him. And at once, they belted out,

“ _All I want is to fly with you, all I want is to fall with you. So just give me all of you_.”

“ _It feels impossible_ ,” sang the Doctor.

“ _It’s not impossible_ ,” sang Garen.

“ _Is it impossible_?” 

Together, faces nearly touching, eyes locked onto each other’s, they sang:

“ _Say that it’s possible_.”

The rest of the song went much better than the first half. Their harmonies remained impeccable, and their emotions felt like they were on the same exact wavelength. Garen hit the keys with almost force enough to shatter them, and the Doctor strolled back and forth, making direct eye contact more than half the time.

But for the last verse, the atmosphere calmed slightly. Garen sat back on the piano bench. The Doctor leaned on crossed arms leaned on the piano, staring at Garen with big sad eyes.

“ _You know I want you. It’s not a secret I try to hide. But I can’t have you_.” He pushed off of the piano and sighed. “ _We’re bound to break and my hands are tied_.”

Silence filled the space with the last ringing note of Garen’s piano; the Doctor’s voice. For once, the room felt too small. Too snug. Like the very air itself was suffocating. Maybe there was an issue with his program? A malfunction?

But no. The room hadn’t changed, and neither had the Doctor’s program. It was just that, as he looked at Garen’s beaming face and excited, exhausted eyes, he knew one thing: he would have to tell Garen the truth. No matter what happened, if this was going to work long term, he would have to tell Garen who he really was. Tell him about Voyager. Tell him about the Delta Quadrant; about Holograms; about photons.

So the Doctor rounded the piano. And before Garen could go into a rave about their rehearsal and how good they would sound tomorrow night, the Doctor held up a hand and sat beside him on the piano bench.

“Garen,” he said softly, “there’s something I need to tell you.”


	5. Two Holograms, One Performance, and One Scary Director

Chapter Five  
"Two Holograms, One Performance, and One Scary Director"

“I’m...a Hologram.”

The words sounded fittingly hollow as they exited Garen’s mouth. Usually so filled with spirit, his eyes were strangely blank as he stared toward the wall. Even his spots seemed dampened by the news, seeming to droop slightly closer to his brows than the Doctor remembered. 

“Yes.” The Doctor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. This whole thing was rather awkward, but Garen was handling it better than expected. In fact, it was a miracle his entire program hadn’t yet destabilized. 

“And we’re on a spaceship?” Garen met the Doctor’s eyes; a little wide, a little desperate.

“Yes,” the Doctor repeated. He leaned forward, almost far enough to knock knees with Garen. “Are you feeling alright about all of this? It’s a lot to take in. It’s very common to feel distress about this type of news…”

“I’m...I’m okay.” Garen let himself smile, and let his knee touch the Doctor’s. “You’re a Hologram too, right?”

“Yes. Completely.”

“Well then,” Garen said, tilting his head, “at least we’re in it together.”

The Doctor returned Garen’s smile. 

“That we are.”

Their eyes continued to dance between themselves, flickering between the eyes and lips. For a moment, the Doctor felt his face heat slightly; yet again an impossible Holographic blush. But then a sudden sound near the door scared them into jumping about ten inches off of their seats.

It was Mr. Pek, the director. He’d been standing in the doorway until the door stopper slid out from under it and caused the wooden slab to bang into the hallway wall. The ruckus had even scared the Vulcan himself, who stared at the Doctor and Garen like a proverbial deer in headlights.

That is, until Vulcan composure righted his posture and helped him enter the room with his hands behind his back and a calm expression on his face.

“We will begin our final dress rehearsal in thirty minutes. Since you are the third act, please make sure to be punctual.”

“Will do,” Garen said, nodding with a smile.

Pek hesitated, eyes a bit vacant, and then returned the nod. He spun to leave, then slowly turned back around. For a long moment that may have only been a few seconds, his eyes lingered on the Doctor.

Specifically, they lingered on his Mobile Emitter.

Had he…? No, he had probably just arrived. There’s no way he heard their conversation about Holograms and Mobile Emitters and ships called Voyager. And even if he did, there was no way he understood it enough to do any damage. He was just a theater director. 

But something in his eye made the Doctor wonder...something about him seemed to spell trouble, or perhaps something even more dangerous. 

Perhaps something fatal.

………. ………… …………….. ………….. …………. …………. 

As they waited backstage for the show to begin, the Doctor tried not to think about Pek. He tried to live in the moment, and bask in the joy that Garen had made it through their difficult conversation and seemed to be coping with it. But it was so, so difficult when he had been through so many Holodeck malfunctions before. If something went wrong…

He blinked, stood up straighter, and forced a smile. If something went wrong, then Mr. Paris and Lieutenant Torres were one Comm signal away. Everything was alright. He was with friends and he was about to perform with a man whose voice was almost as beautiful as his appearance. 

All was well.

“Doctor?” Lissa said suddenly. “You seem like you’re a million miles away.”

“More like lightyears,” Sandra added with a smile. “What’s on your mind?”

“Oh, nothing.” The Doctor turned to them, admiring the elaborate costume Sandra had chosen for her dance recital. It would look gorgeous when she twirled at the end of her number, and thanks to a technical trick it would also appear to light up like the night sky with dozens of stars and comets zipping around. These were the kind of details he needed to focus on; not Pek’s shifty gaze on his Mobile Emitter, but his friend’s performances and wonderful talents. “I’m just looking forward to the show.”

Lissa tilted her head as she crossed her arms.

“I gotta admit, it’s going a lot better than I thought it would. It seems you’re our good luck charm, Doctor.”

“Of course he is,” Garen said. 

He wrapped an arm around the Doctor’s shoulder that sent sparks flying through his program. At least, that’s what it felt like. 

The Doctor breathed: in, out. Then turned and found Garen’s brilliant smile a few inches from his face. This close, he could see every line on his face; every perfect imperfection. A few freckles added even more spots to his brown skin. And though his eyebrows were shaped, one was just a millimeter longer than the other.

All of a sudden, the Doctor wanted to learn every imperfection written on Garen’s body. Not in his program, because Garen was hardly just a computer program at this point. No, he was a person. Perhaps Garen had only existed for a short time, but that could have been forgotten so easily, standing here. His relaxed arm felt like that of someone who had grown up and found his confidence. The hair by his temples was starting to gray; the age lines near his mouth were becoming more prominent. This was a man, not a program.

This was a friend, not a computer simulation.

“Are you ready for our duet?” the Doctor asked. It was a struggle to keep his voice calm and steady as Garen’s continued half-embrace made his Holographic heart dance in his chest, but he managed it.

“I think I am.” Garen tilted his head. “It’s a bit sad, though. Not at all how I feel right now.”

The Doctor leaned forward, close enough to feel Garen’s breath on his matrix. Sandra and Lissa were probably rolling their eyes for being forced to watch their so-called PDA. But that was okay. They could stare and sigh and roll their eyes all they wanted; the Doctor could stay here like this forever.

………. ……….. …………….. ………….. ……………. ……………..

The rehearsal was flawless.

Marab began the show with a transporting Klingon Opera piece. His voice carried across the stage with a trembling vibrato that shook the chandelier above the nearly-empty theater. And as he finished, with a flourish of a hand and a dramatic look to the ‘sky’ of ‘Kronos’ (a marvel of technical theater), everyone backstage rose to their feet with thundering applause. Even Pek, sitting in the front row, gave Marab a slightly raised eyebrow of approval.

Sandra was next. She soared across the stage, taking the very night sky along with her as her dress sparkled and waved like a rippling flag. They watched her performance from the backstage monitors, gasping with every leap and murmuring admirations as she spun and weaved through ever-changing sets and the turning of the central portion of the stage.

When the Doctor and Garen sang their number, accompanied by Lissa on the piano, it was with more enthusiasm than ever before. Lissa smiled as she banged out the notes on the keyboard, amused, it seemed, at the Doctor and Garen’s theatrical antics. Perhaps they overdid it just a little bit. But Pek was satisfied enough anyway. His eyes lingered on the Doctor for a long moment after they were finished, as their chests heaved in and out with simulated breathing. And the Doctor chose to interpret this as praise, rather than curiosity.

Backstage, Garen took the Doctor’s hand into his own. It was...there were no words to describe how it made the Doctor feel. He gasped at the contact, then turned with a bright smile to find Garen’s face holding the same giddy expression. Bumping along the darkness of the backstage, they eventually found their usual hallway where they were permitted to speak.

“That was…”

“Incredible,” the Doctor finished, chest still heaving.

He stared at Garen. Garen stared back. And then, after a long, quiet moment, they lunged toward each other.

They kissed.

And the Doctor found he had never been quite this happy before.

………… ……………. ………… …………… ………………. ………………

“I can’t wait until the show tomorrow,” Garen said. “We’ve sold a lot of tickets this week; there should be a sizable crowd.”

“And the crew of Voyager will be here, too,” the Doctor added. “Or, however many I can convince to come.”

They were seated on the edge of the stage, looking out at the empty seats and envisioning them all filled with people. Cheering, clapping, roses flying through the air: that was what awaited them tomorrow. The Doctor knew it, and could not be more thrilled. Especially to experience it with Garen at his side...it would be incredible.

He met Garen’s eyes and found him wearing a curious expression.

“You don’t think the Voyager crew will come? But you are performing!”

The Doctor bent his head with a knowing smile.

“Many members of the crew have become...bored of my operatic performances. And a good number of them don’t think I should waste the coding space learning to sing, anyway. They’d prefer I stay just a doctor.”

Garen’s smile faded, and the Doctor almost regretted his bitter speech. He settled his hand on Garen’s and tried a smile to laugh off his misfortune. But Garen maintained his frown.

“You were never ‘just a doctor’ to me. Don’t they agree?”

“Well,” the Doctor sighed. This was a conversation he’d hoped to save for a later time, but there was no use keeping Garen in the dark. “Some people out there don’t really respect Holograms as equals. A lot of people, actually. And our rights haven’t been written in any legal document.”

Garen’s eyes widened at that. He turned to the empty theater with furrowed brows and a deepening frown. The Doctor squeezed his hand until he met his eyes again.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Garen. Things aren’t easy out there, but there are a lot of good people. Captain Janeway, for example.”

“You’ve mentioned her before.”

“She’s given me more opportunities than I’ve deserved. She’s even let me start learning how to be a Command Hologram. In certain circumstances, I’d be able to control the entire ship; make decisions just like the Captain does.”

Garen’s expression lightened. He nodded in appreciation.

“That sounds like a big job.”

“It is.” The Doctor smiled with a blush. “Actually, I’m not sure I’m ready for it yet. But I want to continue to expand my abilities. Find out what I’m capable of.”

“Well,” Garen said, planting a small kiss on the Doctor’s cheek, “I think you’ll do fine at anything you try.”

The Doctor touched the cheek that had been kissed, staring at Garen with a growing smile and a growing blush. How had he been so lucky to find this man? To be given the chance to work with him and become closer to him? To kiss him and start a relationship, knowing that Garen knew what that meant for them as Holograms?

But as he continued his wondering, a shadow fell over the Doctor. And as he looked up, he knew exactly who he would find: Pek. 

And sure enough, he did find Pek. 

And Pek was eyeing him like B’Elanna eyed a targh she was hunting for sport.


	6. To Make the Impossible Choice

Chapter Six  
"To Make the Impossible Decision"

“Doctor,” Pek said, tilting his head to face him. If he weren’t a Vulcan, the Doctor was sure he’d be smiling an evil grin; a mad scientist from one of Mr. Paris’ Holodeck programs.

The Doctor jumped to his feet. There wasn’t a point, really. Pek was just a director. This was just a conversation. But something about the man made him terrifying. Was it the hands folded behind his back, making it look like he was hiding something? Or was it the look in his eye; the way his pupils darted across the Doctor’s face like Tuvok’s did when he was assessing whether someone was lying or not.

First a Targh and now a suspect: the Doctor sure was making brilliant comparisons for himself today.

“How can I help you?” he asked, finally. 

Pek smirked, almost enough to be labelled ‘emotional’. But then the smirk dropped into his usual slight frown.

“How do I leave the Holodeck?” Pek asked, so suddenly that the Doctor was left blinking in shock.

He turned a quick eye to Garen, who wore a similar expression of fear and disbelief. Uh-oh. How were they going to explain themselves out of this? Pek had heard every word...every description of the outside world. He knew so much. 

And yes, in a way, this is what the Doctor wanted: Holograms that knew they were Holograms. But he’d hoped to gather a large group of self-aware friends before telling Holograms that made him feel uneasy. Pek was the last person he wanted to inform about his self determination; not until he knew exactly how Holodeck characters reacted to such news.

“I know that you leave this place, Doctor. And I know that there is much that you haven’t told us.” Pek turned a raised brow to Garen. “Except, of course, for Mr. Kigrass here.”

The Doctor’s fist clenched and unclenched for a long moment as he looked from Pek to Garen to Pek to Garen. “Er,” he stammered, “Yes. Well, you see...I’m not sure if you can leave the Holodeck yet. It’s all very complicated-”

“If I understood your words to Mr. Kigrass,” Pek continued, pacing across the stage with his hands still locked behind his back, “You use that device on your arm to transport yourself from here to a ship called Voyager.”

“Well, yes. I do.” The Doctor cleared his throat. A large part of him was wary to tell Pek any of this. But there was no lying to a Vulcan; especially not one as determined as Pek.

“I am not your enemy, Doctor. You do not need to keep secrets from me.”

The Doctor wholly disagreed with that. But since there was no hard evidence to call Pek a danger, only instinct, he couldn’t exactly make accusations. So he nodded along and gave Pek the benefit of the doubt.

“I am a member of the crew of the Starship Voyager. But to transfer anyone from this program - the theater - out there...it will take time. And probably a lot of restless nights for the engineering crew. But I do, ultimately, want you all to be given the freedoms that I’ve been given.”

“It will take time, Mr. Pek,” Garen said suddenly, remembering everything the Doctor had told him earlier that day. “But Voyager’s Captain is kind. She will work to grant us freedom. If we’re patient, we can get out of here someday.”

Pek gave Garen the look that a parent might give to a child when they mention such figures as Santa Claus or fairies.

“And until then,” said Pek, pacing back across the stage until he reached a panel by the right stage wall, “we are victims of our circumstances; doomed to perform sub-par shows and act as the playthings of the crew of Voyager.”

“You’re more caught up in your emotions than most Vulcans I’ve met,” the Doctor murmured. 

Pek spun back around with a fury in his eye, but it dissipated quickly. As he turned slowly back to the panel by the wall, he released a breath in a sigh.

“I have not been able to grow and learn in the company of Vulcans. Like everyone else here, I am only a series of code, written in a rush by one ‘Thomas Paris’. If I were given the opportunity to learn and expand, perhaps I could develop the meditation abilities lauded by those on my supposed ‘home planet’.”

The Doctor shifted back a few steps. He took Garen’s arm and pulled him back as well. 

“You’ve been able to access Voyager’s computer, then?” he asked, voice tight. Damn. This was all going so bad so fast...what would the Captain say when she found out? Would she ban him from the Holodeck? Or...or make him delete this program? What about Garen?

The Doctor turned to his boyfriend with wide eyes. But before he could go too far down that train of thought, Pek was speaking again.

“After I heard your conversation earlier, I decided to learn all I could about my identity.” He tapped into the panel and continued to search the database.

Everything in the Doctor’s Holographic body told him to run; get out of here before things got worse. But he couldn’t abandon his project like that. And he especially couldn’t abandon Garen like that. So instead of running, he checked that Pek’s head was turned away and slowly, achingly slowly, reached his suit’s inside pocket.

The feeling of metal touched his fingers and, finally, he felt some relief for his frayed nerves. He clicked the Comm Badge between his fingers until he heard the small chirping noise. Sure that Pek hadn’t also heard it, he raised it close to his lips.

“Doctor to Paris,” he whispered. When no one responded, he added, “Doctor to Torres. Doctor to anyone who can hear me.”

“I have cut the Comm line,” Pek called back, without even bothering to turn his head.

Damn superior Vulcan hearing. 

But before he could respond, or listen to Pek’s evil mastermind-type speech about what he’d done, the Doctor’s program glitched. Everything went black for a moment. Where it wasn’t black, he watched his arm and leg fizzle, the lights blinking off and on like a strobe light. Then, finally, he stabilized. 

Garen looked positively terrified at the sight, jaw dropped and eyes as wide as they could be. The Doctor gave him an encouraging smile. But how encouraging could he be, when he knew exactly what had happened and how dangerous it was?

“You’ve transferred my program from my Mobile Emitter,” he said with a dull, muted voice. He didn’t want to scare Garen. But this could all go very, very wrong very, very quickly. Pek was now in complete control. And there was nothing he knew to do about it. 

“W-what does that mean?” Garen asked. To his credit, he kept his voice mostly steady. But his eyes were still so filled with horror; his head whipped toward the Doctor, tilted and pleading for an explanation.

“It means that the Mobile Emitter is empty,” Pek said, approaching suddenly; menacingly. “Give it to me, Doctor.”

“Listen.” The Doctor raised both hands, settling into a defensive stance. “I can talk to Captain Janeway. Maybe she’ll give you more freedom; let you control your own program. There’s no need for threats.”

“I disagree,” Pek replied coolly. “There is a high probability that the Voyager crew will not allow me the same freedoms that you have been granted.”

“That’s because I wasn’t ‘granted’ my freedoms,” the Doctor bit back. Standing here on this stage, facing Pek, Garen by his side...somehow, suddenly, he felt a little more emboldened. “I fought for my freedom. And you can have the chance to do the same. But you have to do it the right way.”

“Like this?” Pek turned up to the ceiling. “Computer, generate a phaser and place it in my hand.”

The Doctor went silent. Was he seriously doing this? Was this really happening?

“Computer, end program!” he shouted, suddenly terrified at the prospect of anything else.

But it was to no avail. The computer chirped its negative tone and announced that all controls had fallen into Pek’s hand. No one could do anything to stop him.

So the Doctor let himself panic.

“Please. Don’t do this.” He backed up at double speed, dragging Garen along with him. “You do not need to use violence. That is one of the first things that Vulcan children are taught.”

“I never was a child,” Pek said bluntly, turning the phaser between the Doctor and Garen. “And I am not a Vulcan. I don’t know who or what I am. But if I do not get off of this Holodeck, out of this program, then I will never know what I am capable of.”

“Let me talk to my captain,” the Doctor continued.

Garen joined him, his voice shaky and higher pitched than usual. “Pek, listen to him!”

To his credit, Pek did pause at that. His head spun to face Garen. And for a moment, the Doctor really believed he was considering their offer. But then the phaser followed his gaze, aimed directly at Garen’s chest.

“Computer,” Pek commanded, “Disengage the safety protocols.”

“Safeties disengaged,” the computer replied.

Ok. Now things were really, really out of hand. No Comm. No control. An unstable Hologram aiming a deadly weapon. Fantastic day out. Really, really brilliant planning, Doctor.

But there was no time for self-chastising. Pek’s grip on the phaser was too steady; too rigid. He hardly blinked, he was so focused on the task at hand. 

“Doctor,” Pek’s low voice rang out, “my patience is growing thin. Give me your Mobile Emitter or I will fire this phaser.”

“If you must fire at someone, at least make it me,” the Doctor barked. He wasn’t sure if he was more terrified or more angry. But he was definitely feeling a lot of both; perhaps more than ever before.

“You are programmed to allow no harm to come to those around you,” Pek explained, suddenly Mr. Logical again. “And I have also witnessed your close relationship with Mr. Kigrass. Thus, I believe that threatening his life is more likely to persuade you.”

“Don’t listen to him, Doctor,” Garen said, gritting his teeth and putting on a show of courage. “Do whatever you need to do. He can’t get the Mobile Emitter.”

Garen’s words settled somewhere in the Doctor’s chest. Impossibly, they made him even more terrified; even more angry. The Voyager crew was important to him, and allowing Pek the Mobile Emitter would threaten the ship and her crew. But if Garen was hurt...yes, there was a possibility that they could reprogram him. But that wouldn’t be the same. He wouldn’t be Garen. 

Then again, as accepting as she was, the Captain would never forgive him for choosing the safety of a Holodeck character over her crew. What if Pek injured someone on Voyager because the Doctor protected Garen? What...what was the right choice here? Was there one? 

“Er,” he stammered, shifting from foot to foot. “Please, Pek. Just lower the phaser.”

Pek’s brow raised as he tightened his grip on the weapon.

“Just give me the Mobile Emitter.”

The Doctor swallowed, his jaw locking. He was still unsure of what to do; still unsure of what he was going to do. But then Pek made that decision for him.

“You give me no other choice,” Pek murmured, training the phaser on Garen’s chest again.

For a moment, the Doctor’s head was surprisingly clear. There was no moral dilemma; no Voyager, no Holodeck. There was nothing but a ringing in his ears. A firing phaser. Garen’s wide, terrified eyes. 

There was the Doctor’s own body, running of its own accord to stand between the two men.

There was a flash of light, then a thundering pain and lightning zinging from the right side of his abdomen.

There was the stage floor meeting his shoulder; his collapsing knees; his outstretched hand. 

And then there was nothing.


	7. What I Did For Love

Chapter Seven  
"What I Did For Love"

The world returned in a dizzying series of colors and sounds. There was the curtain above, maroon and rippling. Then it was dark again. Has his eyes closed? It was impossible to tell. Just as suddenly, the back wall of the set appeared. It was the one they’d used for Sandra’s dance number; the night sky, all shades of blue and black. 

Oh, to be in the Mess Hall now, looking out at the real night sky. To be anywhere on Voyager, really. Anywhere except here.

The Doctor’s eyes closed on their own again. He tried to use this time to take stock of where he was; what was happening. But the voices above him were so muffled and muddled together it was impossible to tell what they were saying. It could’ve been a discussion about the weather, but something told the Doctor that wasn’t likely.

“No!” Garen’s voice shouted, louder than before. 

That was the first word the Doctor understood in this strange zone of confusion, and it prompted his eyes to struggle open. He found himself lying halfway on his side, cradling his side for a reason he couldn’t quite place. Before he could figure out his predicament, a shadow fell over him. It wasn’t Garen; that much was certain. Garen never made the Doctor’s body tense up like it was.

Someone suddenly reached down and snatched the Mobile Emitter off of his arm. That was okay. (It really was terrifying, but honestly he had other things to worry about right now). So he let them have it without a fight. And anyway, as the Doctor turned his head a few degrees upward, he noticed the phaser in the person - Pek’s - hand.

Best to let him have what he wanted. 

Pek’s shadow disappeared, and the distinct noise of a door banging closed followed soon after. This, apparently, was all the Doctor needed to remind him of where exactly he was. Of what exactly had happened.

Of how dire his situation was.

As realization dawned, the Doctor found himself grunted in pain, eyes snapping shut as his body curled around the wound in his side. He’d never been hurt like this before; it was usually impossible for him to be hurt at all. Pek must have altered his program in some way. And without his Mobile Emitter, a communication device, or an engineer to assist him, it looked like he was going to have to accept that, for now. 

But damn if it didn’t hurt.

“Doctor?” Garen knelt by the Doctor’s side, gliding his hand over his arm. “Oh my God.”

“Garen,” the Doctor forced between breaths. 

“I-I’m here.” 

Opening his eyes, the Doctor confirmed Garen’s promise. He tried a smile, but it didn’t really work. Then he tried to move and that worked even less. Pain blinded him for a moment as he rolled onto his back, releasing a cry he’d never heard from himself. 

“Don’t...Don’t move,” Garen said. His hands hovered, suddenly afraid to make contact.

“Got that.” The Doctor let his eyes shut again. 

Okay. He was the only Doctor here. And instead of focusing on the horrible irony of that, he needed to focus. Garen was panicking, as expected in such a circumstance. But panic and healthcare were never a good mix; especially not for the patient.

“Garen. I need you to go to the computer console.”

“Where Pek was before? Over by the wall?”

“Yes.”

The Doctor licked his chapped lips, trying to will up more energy than he had. What had that phaser been set to, anyway? This was surely no ‘stun’ setting. Much, much closer to ‘kill’. He feared what he would find when he looked beneath his ruined jacket.

Shaking himself back into focus, the Doctor continued, “Search for a way to transfer my program to Sickbay.”

“H-how do I do that?” Garen’s eyes widened as he sat back on his heels, glancing from the Doctor to the computer.

The Doctor sighed, shutting his eyes. There wasn’t time to explain the entire computer program right now, let alone walk him through it from over here. He could barely speak.

“It’s user friendly. I...I need you to try....” the Doctor’s voice slurred off, his head tilting to the side as his eyes slipped shut. The darkness only lasted a second before he jolted awake with a thundering Holographic heartbeat. But that second terrified him. It told him everything he needed to know about his condition. 

And, apparently, it told Garen all he needed, too. Setting his jaw, Garen nodded in affirmation. His strong hands squeezed the Doctor’s shoulders. And when next he spoke, Garen’s voice was steady.

“I will do everything I can.”

The Doctor nodded, then let his eyes drift up to the ceiling. 

It was curious, what he thought about as Garen hurried to the computer to try and save his life. He didn’t think about the mortal wound in his side. Didn’t think about Voyager, or Garen, or the possibility of never singing opera again. 

No. As the Doctor stared up at the ceiling, he thought of that spot of paint up there that was a different color than the rest of the dark ceiling. Perhaps they’d run out of paint and, since it was unseen by the audience, it didn’t matter. Or maybe there had been a major incident involving a broken set, that shattered that portion of the ceiling so badly it had to be replaced.

Whatever strange course of events had led to one square-ish section of the black ceiling being painted a shade of blue, that same timeline had led the Doctor to laying on this old stage floor staring up at the ceiling. It was the same timeline that led him and Garen to meeting and, if he may be so bold, falling for each other. 

That, or Mr. Paris had simply made an error in the coding that controlled the color of the ceiling.

“Doctor!” Garen shouted, rushing back to his side. As he knelt down, he shook his head with a defeated expression. “It’s no use. Pek’s locked us out of every transport control; every communication system. The computer isn’t taking any of my controls. It hardly even heard my voice when I spoke-”

“It’s alright,” said the Doctor, taking Garen’s hand into his own. Even as he said it, his side ached and begged for treatment. 

Garen sighed, nestling closer to the Doctor. They were silent for a long moment, as they each looked in opposite directions. When they did manage to meet each other’s eye, they turned away. It was too much, to see all that they had had for such a short amount of time. Like looking at everything you ever wanted and it was just out of reach.

“Doctor,” Garen said suddenly, “Did you know? Did you know that you could be injured, even though your program is unique?”

The Doctor swallowed, then forced himself to make eye contact. As he’d feared, Garen’s eyes were filled with tears. 

Damn Pek. Damn this blasted Holodeck. Damn himself, letting this situation get so out of hand so quickly.

“I...I knew it was a possibility.”

“Was...was it just a matter of programming?” Garen asked, lowering his head.

“What?!”

“Did you choose to save me, or were you forced to...because of your EMH program. Your duty not to let anyone be harmed.”

Lying here on the ground, holding Garen’s tear-soaked hand in his own, the Doctor smiled. 

“It was my choice.” He shook his head. And even though it ached, he forced himself to sit up. One hand instinctively flew to his right abdomen, while the other remained steadfast in Garen’s grip. “I...wanted to save you. Even at risk to myself.”

“Why?” 

Garen’s questions were starting to sound like young Naomi Wildman’s; always curious to know more, probe deeper. But the Doctor knew well enough _why_ he was asking. He probably would too, under the circumstances.

So he gave Garen the answer that he wanted. He gave Garen the truth.

“Because I care about you. I...I really, really care about you. And I hope we get more time together.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Then Garen finally broke, letting his tears fall in earnest. He wiped them away as quickly as he could, holding on tight to the Doctor’s hand.

“Me too,” Garen whispered.

Just when the Doctor thought they’d have another long moment of silence and touching, heartwarming smiles, the pain in his side came back with a vengeance. All at once he was overcome with the urge to cry out and fall unconscious at his earliest convenience. Dizzy from the sensation, his body tilted to the side. But, as always, Garen was there to catch him. 

Shaking from the exertion of staying awake and keeping his hand pressed against his side, the Doctor let himself be pulled into Garen’s embrace. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, lying virtually in this man’s lap with his head rested against his shoulder. But it was significantly better than laying on the floor. 

“Doctor?” Garen said. “You’ve gotta promise you’ll stay with me, okay? You can’t go around explaining sentience to someone and then leaving. That’s not fair.”

The Doctor felt Garen’s voice rumble through his chest, and closed his eyes as the sound lulled him nearly to sleep.

“Mmhmm,” he grunted, already halfway asleep.

“Hey,” Garen shook the Doctor’s shoulder roughly. “Are you allowed to sleep? I-I’m really asking; you’re the doctor here.”

Perhaps he was not exactly in the right mind to make such a decision. But all that the Doctor could think to do at the moment was to sleep and hope that things were better when he awoke.

And so, with a few unintelligible words to Gavin, the Doctor let himself fall asleep.


	8. When Night Shift Gets More Interesting

Chapter Eight  
"When Night Shift Gets More Interesting"

Tom stared at the console and could have sworn the buttons were moving. It had been a long, awful, boring night. No ships. No intercepted comm lines. No hails for Voyager’s assistance. He’d been sitting in this chair for four hours with nothing to do but make tiny adjustments to their heading to avoid ‘collisions’ with asteroids that Voyager would have torn apart anyway.

This was why he hated working the night shift. Which was probably why Chakotay had suggested it in the first place. 

Okay, Tom had made one mistake during a mission last week. One! And sure, it was a pretty big mistake. And yes, he, Tuvok, and Chakotay ended up forging for shelter while an ion storm raged around them, blocking Voyager’s rescue attempts. But still...everyone made mistakes. It was rather childish of the commander to put Tom on night shift for it.

But the Commander _had_ put Tom on night shift. And there really wasn’t any use complaining about it at this point. Besides, at least B’Elanna was also working the night shift today (on a personal project. She never got ratted out by Chakotay).

“Permission to take my twenty minute break,” said Tom, spinning around to face the acting captain, a Lieutenant from one of the science labs.

The Lieutenant gave him a raised brow, but assented.

“Permission granted.”

Tom was out the door before the Lieutenant could change his mind.

“Mess Hall,” he ordered the Turbolift. 

The doors slid shut and the craft began moving in its rhythmic, lulling way. Tom was so tired, he could probably fall asleep in here. But then the doors opened again and he found himself in the hallway outside of the Mess Hall.

“Mr. Paris! What can I get for you this evening,” Neelix said, much too loud and much too exuberant for this hour of the night.

“I didn’t even know you were still here.” Tom rubbed his head in an attempt to stave off the headache he was developing. “Can I just get a coffee? I’ve still got a few hours of work and I’m about to fall asleep at the conn.”

“Coming right up.” 

As Neelix went to the replicator to complete the order, Tom looked around the Mess Hall. It was dimly lit and quiet, typical for night shift. But there was someone here. Just one person, sitting over by the couches on the far side of the room, nursing her own cup of coffee.

B’Elanna.

“Hey,” Tom said with a smile, sitting backward on the closest chair to her couch. “How’s the project going?”

“It’s going,” she replied shortly. She barely contained a grimace as she took another sip of coffee. “How does the Captain drink this stuff?”

“You’ll drink blood wine, but a cup of coffee is too strong for you?”

B’Elanna didn’t respond, but she did cast a playful smile above her cup, which was even better. Tom responded in kind.

Then, of course, Neelix broke into their little moment with a steaming cup in his hand.

“One cup of coffee, with milk and a small amount of sucrose.”

“Thanks Neelix.” Tom leaned back in his seat, taking that first sip that always filled his body with warmth and energy. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“You are!”

Tom and B’Elanna chuckled together as Neelix disappeared back to the counter to finish cleaning up. The atmosphere in here was so much different than it usually was. There were no conversations to listen in on; no bets being played on games of Kadis-kot. But it was nice. Just him, B’Elanna, the sounds of clinking glasses over by the counter, and the stars outside glistening and drifting by in their quiet way.

If nothing else, it beat being on the Bridge with nothing to do.

“How long do you have?” B’Elanna asked, suddenly breaking the silence.

“At this point, about ten minutes.”

Tom sighed. Breaks were never long enough, and they were far too rare. He’d need to speak to the Captain about that. Not just because he wanted more time with his girlfriend; because it would be better for crew morale. They’d probably work more efficiently and more productively or something. He wasn’t sure; he’d need to get Harry’s help before he made a proposal. Harry was the go-to guy for that kind of thing.

“You’re quiet tonight,” B’Elanna noted, sipping her coffee with slightly less disgust than before.

“I’m half asleep right now. No matter how many night shifts I work, I never get used to it.”

“Try working alone in Engineering at this time of night. Honestly it’s kind of creepy. The warp core makes so much more noise than you think it does. And there are so many shadows moving on the walls-”

“Alright,” Tom threw a hand up, “I don’t need to be told ghost stories before I walk all the way back to the Bridge by myself.”

B’Elanna shrugged.

“We’ll just walk together.”

They shared another smile. This time, not even Neelix dared to intrude. Their eyes met, then their lips did, too. Tom mostly tasted coffee, but there was a hint of B’Elanna’s lip gloss in there somewhere. He smiled and set down his mug for Neelix to clean up later, then pulled B’Elanna to stand up beside him.

“I’d better get back,” he whispered, kissing her again. He held his arm out to her, as if he were some kind of old timey gentleman. “Care to join me?”

“Please,” she said, taking his arm, “anything to keep me out of Engineering for a bit longer.”

They both said goodbye to Neelix as they left the Mess Hall. Tom was glad to have B’Elanna with him; this ship felt so weird and lonely at night, when all the lights were at fifty percent and most of the crew was asleep. But with her, it felt like an ordinary day. They walked in step all the way down the hallway, then turned at the same exact time to face the next corridor together.

And that was when the night shift got a whole lot more interesting.

“Hey!” Tom shouted, as he froze to a stop.

There was a man standing there; a Vulcan who was certainly not Tuvok or Vorik or anyone else on the Voyager crew. Taking in his appearance, with his looming height and his terran suit, Tom recognized him as the director from his theater program.

The program the Doctor was using tonight.

Uh-oh.

The director tore off down the hallway, the Doctor’s Mobile Emitter glistening on his arm as Tom and B’Elanna raced after him. A million thoughts were running through Tom’s head: what had happened? Where was the Doctor? How long had they had a Hologram character running around their ship?

“Torres to security,” B’Elanna hailed, tapping her Comm Badge as they ran. “Intruder on Deck 2. He’s a Vulcan male; a character from a Holodeck program.”

Ah, right. Tom had taken B’Elanna to that theater. He’d sung, horribly. He’d played guitar, even worse. And she had laughed the entire time, informing him after the fact that it was best if he stuck to repairing cars. It had been a nice day, which was why Tom had suggested the program to the Doctor in the first place.

He hadn’t known the director would steal a Mobile Emitter and run off like that. 

“Wait, B’Elanna,” Tom said, taking her arm as he slowed to a stop. “Security can handle him. We need to check on the Doc.”

“Good idea.”

They jumped into the next Turbolift they could find. And as he waited in that small space, arm nudging against B’Elanna’s, Tom found that he was really, really worried. 

And something told him that worry was justified.

……….. ……………… …………….. ……………… ………….. ..…………

As soon as he stepped onto the Holodeck, Tom felt a wave of anxiety hit his stomach. 

The theater was quiet; that unique quiet that you only find in a space made for carrying sound. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the audience. But as he and B’Elanna made their way down the aisle, he did see two people onstage. One was Garen, a Trill man he’d programmed. 

And the other, laid halfway in Garen’s lap, unmoving, was the Doctor.

It would have been nice to think they were acting out some kind of dramatic scene. That’s what it looked like at first glance. But the weight in Tom’s stomach knew that wasn’t the case. He knew this was real; this horrible situation that felt like a nightmare. It was real and it was happening and, on some level, it was happening because of him. Because of his program. His characters. His encouragement.

Tom took the steps two at a time. As he knelt on the opposite side of the Doctor, he tried to turn on his medical assistant-mode. He tried to turn off the part of him that was guilty and angry and scared. 

But it was so, so hard when the Doctor was just lying there, head resting on Garen's chest because he couldn't hold it up on his own. The brown jacket he wore for his performance was wrinkled and crumpled from the awkward position he'd been lying in for God knows how long. He wasn't human. But in that moment, he certainly looked like one.

“Doc,” said Tom, setting a hand on the Doctor’s arm where the Mobile Emitter should have been. He looked up to Garen, whose face was blotted by tears. “What happened?”

“P-Pek,” Garen choked out. His shaky arms settled the Doctor on the floor of the stage. Then even shakier hands folded up his own jacket and placed it under the Doc’s head as a pillow. “He...he told the computer to make some kind of weapon. A phaser? He...He was aiming at me. But the Doctor stepped in the way and-”

“Where was he hit?” Tom interrupted. Ah, thank God. His medical training was gaining control. 

“His right side.”

Tom peeled back the Doctor’s suit jacket at the location of the injury, finding the fabric of his shirt charred and torn. Whatever setting that phaser had been on, it was a nasty one.

“B’Elanna,” he said, turning to her with determination in his eyes, “we need to get him to Sickbay. Can you figure out the computer situation?”

“Got it.” 

B’Elanna’s voice was short, and she rushed to the computer console with a concerned expression. Tom’s chest swelled with love for her at that moment. Sometimes it was hard to tell her true feelings. She hid them so well behind snarky comments and sarcasm. But she really cared about everyone on this ship so, so much. And moments like this, as horrible as they were, made her feelings clear.

“Damn it!” B’Elanna shouted, banging the console with the butt of her hand. “Pek’s screwed up the transporters, the Hologram controls...it’s gonna take hours to fix this mess.”

Tom bit back the urge to remind her that they didn’t have ‘hours’. It wouldn’t have helped, and it would only have made them all feel worse.

“Paris to Ensign Wildman,” he tapped through his Comm Badge. She was on night shift today, and she knew her way through Sickbay. She could grab his medkit and be back here within a few minutes.

Only, Ensign Wildman never responded.

Tom tried again. Then, “Paris to anyone who can hear me, come in.”

Again, there was no response. 

This whole thing was starting to feel like A Series of Unfortunate Events. But then B’Elanna touched his shoulder. 

“What do you need?”

“I need a medkit. They’re in Sickbay, right under the office window in front of the main bed. You know?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure.” B’Elanna bit her bottom lip, and then kissed Tom’s cheek. “Don’t worry; I’ll get it. I’ll be back here before you can say ‘please state the nature of the medical emergency’.”

She tried a playful smile to emphasize the joke. But with the Doctor lying on the ground completely unresponsive, it didn’t quite hit its mark. And honestly, it made the knot in Tom’s stomach tighten to almost unbearable levels. 

As B’Elanna rushed back to the Holodeck door, Tom rested a hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, Doc,” he whispered. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”


	9. The Grace of a Captain and her Crew

Chapter Nine  
“The Grace of a Captain and Her Crew”

The Doctor came to with a sharp pinching sensation on his neck. As soon as he decided he was not being bitten by a vampire from one of Mr. Kim’s holonovels, he registered the sound of a hissing hypospray.

Wait. 

His eyes shot open, and the dizzying feeling of a rapid heartbeat flooded his chest. Why did he have a heartbeat? And why was he on the floor? Who was holding his arm; his chest; his shoulder?

“Take it easy, Doc.”

That was Tom Paris. Definitely. And since the world was finally coming into focus around him, colors melding into shapes and forms and bodies, he identified the other two as Lieutenant Torres and Garen. 

Once his companions were established, the Doctor dared to look down at himself. Someone had taken his jacket, leaving him in a once-white button down ripped open on the right side to reveal a neat rectangular bandage. 

Oh. Right. Funny, how easily one could forget that they were shot by a phaser.

“How do you feel?” Garen asked, adjusting the Doctor’s shirt to cover him again. His spotted face hovered above the Doctor’s, eyes puffier than usual. 

“I…” 

The Doctor trailed off. Because what could he even say? He felt strange; like he wasn’t even himself. And somewhere beneath whatever Tom had put in that hypospray, there was a lingering ache in his side. There was no telling _why_ , exactly, he was able to feel such a thing as pain. Just as there was no telling why he had a heartbeat, or even just the sensation of one. But apparently, today, photons and force fields had been temporarily substituted for flesh and blood.

“We’re still figuring out the computers,” B’Elanna said. She was behind Tom, with much more worry in her eyes than the Doctor would have expected. “We aren’t sure how to transfer you safely back to Sickbay. And Tuvok is still chasing the guy who has your Mobile Emitter.”

“Oh,” the Doctor said dumbly. For once, he was at a loss for words. That, and he felt incredibly dizzy. Was it something in the hypospray? Or was it the injury from the phaser? There was no way to tell.

Tom squeezed his shoulder and gave him a small smile.

“Don’t worry, Doc. You gave us a bit of a scare earlier, but you’re actually pretty stable now.”

At that, the Doctor found his voice. 

“‘Pretty’ stable, Mr. Paris? I don’t remember teaching you that term.”

Tom bent his head, his smile deepening. 

“Okay, you _are_ stable. Is that better?”

“Much. But as medical professionals, we usually don’t...ooh,” the Doctor shut his eyes as a flood of holographic nerves flared up in his side. 

“Doc?”

“I’m...I’m alright.” He flashed a quick smile up to each of them. When someone’s hand, presumably Garen’s, latched onto his own, he gave it a tight squeeze. “I’m not used to being a patient.”

“How’s it feel to have the tables turned?” asked Tom, rifling through the medkit on the floor beside him.

“Terrible.”

Tom’s head whipped back with a playful glint in his eye.

“Hey, I didn’t know my bedside manner was that bad. You should try having yourself as a doctor. Talk about having a bad time.”

The Doctor only smirked in response. His eyes were threatening to close of their own volition, and the theater around him was starting to swirl together in a nauseating mix of colors and sounds. He tried to mention this to Paris, who was rapidly dissolving into a combination of yellows and reds, but the young medic seemed to be one step ahead.

“Here you go, Doc.” 

The hiss of a hypospray touched his neck again. He’d never known before how awful those things felt. Maybe this experience would help him in future to be a better doctor. Or at least a nicer one.

Thanks to Mr. Paris’ latest hypo, the theater stopped spinning. The faces surrounding him solidified and became themselves again. Garen, staring into his eyes. Tom, setting his supplies back into the medkit. B’Elanna, looking over Tom’s shoulder before bouncing back to the computer console to start repairs.

All of a sudden, the Doctor found himself smiling. It had been a long and difficult journey from the days when people would turn him off mid sentence. He had friends here now. A family that cared about him even when he irritated them with his poor bedside manner or his constant operatic singing or his lectures about alien insects. And when he was in trouble, this family dropped everything they were doing to come and help him.

He’d...never considered it a possibility, in those early days. But here they were. And here he was, holding onto the hand of another holographic man whose journey to self-actualization might end up being easier than his own. 

Lying here on the dusty theater floor with a phaser wound in his side, the Doctor found he had possibly never been happier.

The doors opened with a sudden crash on the opposite end of the theater. The Doctor tried to turn his head to see who it was, but Tom steadied his shoulder against the floor to keep him still.

“It’s just the captain,” he said.

Tom didn’t know how those words sent a flurry of anxiety pounding into the Doctor’s chest. 

He trusted the captain to be kind; of course she would be. But he had really, really messed up tonight. He’d let an armed man get onto Voyager, risking the entire crew and the entire ship. He’d almost gotten himself killed. 

Even if the captain forgave him, there was no telling what the punishment would be. Would she delete this entire program? Would she...would she delete Garen?

The Doctor looked up at Garen, just to hold him in his memory files. Just in case...in case this was the last time. In case Garen became just another lost program. 

But looking up into those big sad eyes, lined with years that Garen had not himself lived out, the Doctor knew that he wouldn’t be able to bear saying goodbye. He’d already lost so much: a daughter, a son, love interests, crewmembers. If he lost Garen, too…

The captain’s shadow loomed over them all as she approached. She didn’t speak, only stared down at the Doctor’s probably pathetic form. Was she sympathetic? Or was she too furious? 

Tom glanced up at her and then gave the Doctor a wary frown.

“I’m gonna, er, go see if B’Elanna needs some help.” He made a swift exit, clapping the Doctor on the shoulder before hurrying over to the computer console.

Garen turned down to the Doctor. He seemed worried, but determined not to show it. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, squeezing the Doctor’s hand one last time. He hesitated to leave for a moment longer than Tom had. But once he started walking away, he didn’t turn back.

Now there was just the Doctor and the Captain. And the latter was still just standing there with an unreadable expression. With that same look on her face, she knelt on the floor and stared directly into the Doctor’s eyes. But she didn’t speak. 

Eventually, as her eyes bore into his own, the Doctor couldn’t help but say something.

“Captain, I...I don’t know where to begin. I should have been more careful. I would never do anything to put this crew in danger; you know that.” He let out a shaky sigh. “I...I understand if you don’t want me to continue this project. But Garen is...Please don’t take this out on him. I...I am so sorry, Captain, and I don’t know how to make it up to you, but-”

All of a sudden, the captain’s arms folded around him and pulled him into a strong embrace. 

The Doctor’s brain short circuited for a moment, as he nestled into Captain Janeway’s shoulder. This was not what he had expected. Not at all. But it did feel nice, as she held him and cradled his head in her hand. 

“I thought you’d be angry,” he murmured into her uniform. He closed his eyes, willing his tears away as his chest swelled in relief. 

She didn’t respond. But he could hear her stifled breaths and knew she was swallowing back tears of her own. 

“I’m not angry, Doctor,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady. 

“You aren’t?”

Captain Janeway pulled away from him, keeping her hands rested on his shoulders. Shaking her head, she offered a small smile.

“Tuvok woke me in the middle of the night to tell me there’d been phaser fire and a serious injury on the Holodeck, an intruder roaming Voyager...then I saw B’Elanna sprinting down the hall with a medkit, shouting at people to get out of her way...I didn’t know what I’d find when I got here.”

The Doctor looked away. Guilt and shame ran through his mind. How could he have been so careless? How could he have frightened the unshakeable Captain Janeway?

“I’m sorry, Captain,” he said quietly.

Janeway furrowed her brows.

“You don’t need to keep apologizing, Doctor. The fault is mine as much as it is yours. I authorized this project, and I knew what could happen if something went wrong.”

Here it was. The Doctor settled his head back onto the crumpled jacket that had served as his pillow for the past twenty or so minutes. Janeway was going to cancel this project and delete all of the friends he’d made this past week. He was sure of it.

“Doctor?” 

He didn’t respond, electing to stare up at that mispainted ceiling tile one last time. He’d never know the story of how it got there. He’d never know what Garen would have grown to become.

“Things on this ship have a way of going wrong,” Janeway said, suddenly allowing a smile to slip through her serious expression. “It doesn’t mean we don’t keep trying.”

The Doctor’s eyes shot open for the second time that evening. He sat up, a little too quickly, and then sank back down again with the captain’s assistance.

“You won’t delete the program? Or anyone in it?”

“No.” Captain Janeway looked around the space. “But I might put in a few new rules. First of all, no more solo missions.”

“I need to have a...chaperone?” 

They met each other’s eyes, and the captain won that debate before it even began.

“And second...you need to introduce me to your friends.” She said this one with a smile and an eye toward Garen. 

“Oh, er, Captain?” the Doctor sat up as much as he dared, wrapping an arm around himself. “Garen and I are...well, we’re a bit more than ‘friends’.”

The captain’s smile widened. And as she leaned in close, the Doctor swore she had the same playful glint in her eye that was characteristic of Tom Paris.

“I’m glad you finally realized that for yourself. We were about to start a betting pool.”

The Doctor floundered for a response to that. But before he could think of something, the captain was waving Garen back to his side and their hands were intertwining. Garen’s dark eyes were looking into his own, and then up to the captain with anxious apprehension.

“I’m Kathryn Janeway,” she said, extending a hand to the Trill man. “I’m Voyager’s captain.”

Garen looked at her hand for a moment, brows raising, then returned the handshake with a growing smile.

“The famous Captain Janeway. The Doctor’s told me all about you.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Yes,” Garen said with an ecstatic nod, “Of course. You’re...you’re an incredible captain. I believe. I have to be honest, I don’t have a lot of experience on Starships. I’m only a singer.”

“A professional singer,” Janeway repeated, shaking her head and casting a glance to the Doctor. “How did I know?”

……………….. …………………. …………………. ……………….. ……………

While B’Elanna continued the long repairs to the computer system, the Doctor argued himself into sitting up against the wall rather than lain on the floor. It wasn’t a great deal comfier, but it did heal some of the bruises his ego had taken over the last few hours. Not to mention, it was fun to give Mr. Paris a hard time.

“You _should_ still be lying down,” Paris chided for the third time, whirring the medical tricorder over the Doctor’s injury. “And you _should_ know that, being a Doctor and all.”

“Maybe I was testing you,” said the Doctor, “You know, you still haven’t taken the Starfleet medical exam.”

“I think this should count toward _some_ credit, don’t you?” Paris asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I mean, I did basically save your life.”

Paris’ boyish grin softened into something else; something much more introspective and serious. For a moment, the Doctor echoed the expression. From the bits of information he’d gathered, his condition had been worse than he thought. It was possible that Paris and Torres really did bring him back from a near-death experience. That would explain their serious, jittery moods.

So the Doctor chose to be nicer to Paris. He nodded in response to Paris’ statement. And then, instead of making a joke, he said, “That you did, Mr. Paris.”

When Paris met his eye, surprised at the compliment, the Doctor did something even more out of character.

“Thank you.”

They shared a moment of pure respect and understanding, eyes locked. Then, Paris slowly closed the tricorder and let out a breath, turning on his playful expression once again.

“Well, Doc, I think I’ve done all I can for you. Hopefully you’ll be back to photons and force fields before morning.”

“It’s already morning,” Torres deadpanned from the computer console, staring blankly at the data chips she was scanning.

Captain Janeway set a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

“And I think it’s time you went to bed, Tom. You too, B’Elanna.”

“But Captain-” B’Elanna tried.

The captain held up a hand to stop her argument.

“I’ll have Mr. Kim continue repairs. You were both up all night, and I need you for your next shifts.”

“Sounds great to me, Captain,” said Paris, setting everything back into the medkit. He put it down within the Doctor’s reach and then looked into his eyes again. “If you start having any more symptoms-”

“I’m a doctor, Mr. Paris,” the Doctor replied. “I know what to do.”

Paris held up open palms.

“Whatever you say.”

Paris got up to leave. But before he could get too far away, the Doctor called his name again.

“Yeah, Doc?” He turned around, letting B’Elanna continue on without him. 

The Doctor gave him a small smile.

“Thank you, again.”

Paris returned the smile. Then, keeping it, he furrowed his brows.

“Two thanks in one day? It must be Christmas.”

Once more, they shared a knowing look. Then, Tom turned away and hurried off to join B’Elanna, who was already halfway out the Holodeck door.

Just after they left, Garen glanced backstage and then turned back to the captain and the Doctor with a worried expression.

“I should let everyone else know what happened.” He looked at the Doctor, checking him over visually. “Are you okay if I-”

“Please do.”

“I’d like to meet them,” the Captain said, folding her hands in front of her. “If that’s alright, of course.”

Garen gave her a bright smile.

“They’d love to meet you.”

………………. ………………. ……………….. …………………. ...………

“That p’tach!” Marab said loudly, swinging his prop bat’leth so hard he almost hit Sandra.

“Let’s not cause another emergency,” the Doctor warned from his spot on the floor. 

Marab looked down, as bashful as a klingon could possibly look, and then set the bat’leth against the backdrop.

“So, Captain,” the Doctor said to Janeway, holding Garen’s hand on one side and resting his opposite hand on his injury. “This is Marab. He sings an excellent Klingon Aria at the start of the show.”

“Oh how lovely,” the captain replied, smiling at Marab. “Would you mind singing a verse of it for me? I’m not sure if I’ll get the chance later.”

“I would, actually,” said Marab. He touched a hand to his throat. “It is important not to strain my voice before the performance. I hope that it does not offend-”

“No, no,” Janeway said with a chuckle. “Please, save your voice.”

“Marab!” Sandra squeaked, walking suddenly across the stage. “She’s the Doctor’s friend and captain. The least you could do is sing.”

“If you wish to risk yourself and dance for her,” Marab said with a sneer, “be my guest.”

Garan sat up straighter, holding out his free hand.

“Guys, come on. We don’t even know if the performance is still happening. Let’s all just...try to get along, okay?”

Marab clicked his tongue, but relaxed his shoulders and adopted a more amicable manner. Once Sandra had accepted that he wasn’t going to strike at her again, she joined the captain at the Doctor’s side.

“I’m sorry for some of our group. They can be a bit dramatic.”

“They?” Lissa said.

She walked out from behind the curtain with a playful smirk. But as soon as her eye landed on the Doctor, her expression turned sympathetic.

“How are you doing, Doc?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said with a soft smile, “Mr. Paris healed the worst of my injury.”

“Paris?” questioned Lissa. 

“Mr. Paris is…”. The Doctor looked pointedly at Captain Janeway. “One of my friends from Voyager.”

He and the Captain shared a meaningful smile. It had taken a long time, but he really did view the entire Voyager crew as his closest friends. His family, even. And after today...well, he was starting to believe that the feeling was mutual. And that was worth a million phaser wounds.


	10. All's Well that Ends Well

Chapter Ten  
“All’s Well that Ends Well”

“Doc,” Paris said with a stern look in his eye that didn’t suit him, “are you sure you’re ready for this?” His lips curled into a tiny smile as he continued his unblinking stare. “I’d hate for you to ruin my awesome medical work.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, turning to the PADD in his hand.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Paris. I’m back to photons and force fields and my Mobile Emitter has never been in better shape.” He looked up to catch Paris’ eye. “I really am okay.”

Paris nodded, that flicker of seriousness glistening in his eye. He started out of the Doctor’s office, apparently realizing that his worries were unfounded. But before he could leave, the Doctor called him back again.

“I looked over your report,” said the Doctor. He discarded the PADD, but looked down at his folded hands to avoid Paris’ gaze. “It seems that my condition was rather serious when you found me.”

“I’ll say,” Paris murmured, barely audible even with the Doctor’s powerful hearing abilities. “For a minute there I thought…” He forced a smile, shaking away his dark thoughts. “Let’s just say, I’m glad that you’re back to being a hologram. It’s much safer.”

“You all should try it sometime,” the Doctor said with a quick grin. “I’d have a lot less work to do.”

“And B’Elanna and Harry would have a lot more,” added Paris. He paused for another moment, deep in thought. Then he placed a hand on the doorframe and nodded, once more, as a goodbye. “Break a leg tonight, Doc. But only a holographic one.”

“Thank you, Mr. Paris. I will try.”

…………………. ……………………. ………………… ………………..

The Doctor had never in his life had stage fright. He’d performed for the Voyager crew numerous times; arias, entire operas, certain works from old-Earth musical theater. He’d spoken to crowds of people about medical marvels, insect biology, holo-photography. And yet, standing here braced against the wing of the stage, squeezing the curtain in his hand almost tight enough to tear it, he was terrified.

When a few footsteps clicked on the floor behind him, the Doctor jumped about a foot in the air. He turned to the shadows expecting a beast of some kind. That would explain his terror; his shaky hands. But it was only Garen, wearing his award-winning smile.

“How are you?” Garen asked quietly. 

He came to stand closer to the Doctor than ever, taking his hand into his own. In his eyes was a combination of worry and care that was almost heart-breaking.

“I’m fine, physically,” the Doctor said. He turned with a clenched jaw to face the stage again, where Marab’s aria was just beginning. “Though if I still had a stomach, I’d probably be nauseous.”

Garen clapped him on the back, chuckling to himself.

“You’ll be brilliant, as always. Trust me, I know.”

The Doctor turned. And based on Garen’s expression, he knew he was telling the truth. 

All of a sudden, Garen leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. It felt so natural, as if they’d been together for their whole lives. Like they’d known each other forever, even if they didn’t always know it. 

“I have to go check on Sandra,” Garen whispered above the soaring music in the background. “She wanted me to make sure her props were in place.”

“Of course.” The Doctor gave him a smile. “I’ll see you before our number.”

Garen’s smile caught the light, glistening in the shadows as he started toward backstage.

“I’ll see you then.”

………………. …………………….. ……………………. ………………………. 

As he bowed that night, the Doctor tried to live that moment as deeply as he could. He listened to the roaring, applauding audience, filled to the brim with his own crew. He watched the lights, shining on himself and his castmates and glaring in his eyes. He felt his exhausted, simulated breathing heaving in his chest. He squeezed Garen’s hand and felt the firm pressure of someone who he understood, and whom he knew understood him.

And as he looked out at the crowd, he found the Captain. She was smiling, and bumping Commander Chakotay on the shoulder to say something to him. Tom and B’Elanna were beside them, the former whooping like he was at a rock concert and the latter actually smiling for once. Usually she hated the Doctor’s concerts. But, he supposed, something had changed in the last week. Something was profoundly different.

Perhaps it was an ephemeral thing, this joyful moment. Tomorrow there would surely be an alien attack. And soon they’d have to wrestle with the ethical dilemmas of self-aware holograms. He’d have to arrange his schedule to spend time with Garen, and balance his new relationship with his numerous duties on Voyager.

But for now...for now everything was okay. For now, his mission could be called a successful one (though it had gotten a bit glitchy in the middle). 

And for now, he was holding Garen’s hand, and looking at his proud crewmates. And all was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! As always, I love hearing from y'all in the comments, especially since I am very new to writing Voyager. I hope you're enjoying the story; I know I'm having fun writing it!


End file.
